The Scientific Method
by thequeergiraffe
Summary: Short fic in which Sherlock uses science to determine John's feelings. Pretty much shameless fluff and pre-slash.
1. Hypothesis, Test 1

_Sherlock:_

[[**Hypothesis**: Subject #JW-007 will respond positively to non-platonic advances by test administer (SH-Admin) _but _will NOT respond positively to similar sexual/romantic advances from control male "suitors". Controls will be nearly identical to Admin in physicality (intelligence and character impossible to replicate). "Dates" will be observed via field study and survey.

**Test #1, Control-1.**]]

_John:_

I'm sipping tea and reading the Daily Mail on my laptop when Sherlock appears at my side as if by magic. "I need your help with a case," he says urgently, which is usually enough to get my attention…except that I have to work at the surgery today, I know full well there isn't a case on, and I got about three hours of sleep thanks to Sherlock deciding my bedroom (and thus my bed) was the best place to study the effects of certain corrosive fluids on various materials (namely: my bedsheets, my third favorite jumper, my carpet, and my wood flooring) and that this particular experiment was best conducted at three in the morning, with me sleeping in said bedroom (and bed).

"Whatever it is," I say without looking up, "do it yourself."

I know he's doing the puppy-dog eyes without even looking at him. "John, I _need _you. I have something on at Bart's, and you're good with people. I'm not, we both know that."

Despite myself, I ask, "This doesn't mean I'm doing it, but…well, what is it?"

Sherlock brightens. "An interview. I need you to go the Dorset on Melcombe after work tonight. I'll text you the rest of the instructions once you're there."

I rub my tired eyes and sigh. An interview? Can't be all that bad, right? Doesn't sound like there will be any running or car chases or inopportune explosions, at least. "Fine. Okay. But that's it: just an interview. And then I'm going to get a nice, full eight hours of sleep. Understand?"

He doesn't answer, just claps his hands gleefully like a tyke, and I'm suddenly nervous as to what I might have gotten myself into.

x

/Okay, I'm here./

/Excellent. Inside table on the left-hand side. Interviewee is named Brian Taylor. Acquire general background info (upbringing, education, hobbies and interests, etc.) in informal manner. (Imagine Brian is a friend.) SH/

/Do I even want to know the relevance of this, exactly?/

/Not important at this time. Will discuss later. SH/

_Sherlock:_

[[Initial observation: Subject exhibits signs of mild attraction to Control. Subject's manner is casual but with business-like overtones; Control is flirtatious, as requested. More data required.]]

_John:_

The first thing I notice about Brian is that he looks an awful lot like Sherlock. Same dark hair, same lithe figure. I don't think it's possible that anyone else could have Sherlock's mad cheekbones or wild eyes, but otherwise this bloke is a dead ringer.

The second thing I notice is that he is aggressively trying to get in my pants.

"And you went to uni where?" I say politely, wishing we'd had this interview at a pub rather than a café. I sip my coffee and try not to pay too much attention to Brian's fingers, which are toying with the third button on his shirt (the first two are undone, which I assume is intentionally suggestive).

Brian leans forward; his smile is almost uncomfortably lustful. "Didn't go. I went to bartending school instead."

"Oh, great. Great." God, this is awkward. I wish Sherlock were here to put this guy off…not that Brian doesn't seem _nice _or anything but- as I keep trying to tell everyone- I'm not gay. "So, um…you're a bartender, then? That's…brilliant. Very nice."

"Oh yeah, I work over at the Whips & Whistles. Heard of it?" Brian bats his eyes coyly and slides his hand over mine. "You should come 'round one night, I'll fix you up something nice. On the house, of course."

I excuse myself as nicely as I can manage and slip to the loo, yanking out my phone.

/What are you playing at?/

/What do you mean? SH/

/Tell me this is a set-up or something. Seriously, Sherlock, I think this Brian character is planning to eat me alive./

/I presume you're not referring to actual cannibalism. Is he making you uncomfortable? SH/

/YES. Hugely. Requesting rescue mission immediately./

/Interesting. Be there in ten. SH/

That last text sends a flood of relief through me, and when I slip out again and settle down across from Brian I'm extremely grateful to note that he seems to have lost interest in me entirely. When Sherlock shows up nine minutes later and dismisses Brian in his typical brusque manner, I'm so glad to see him that I buy him a coffee and force him to tell me all about his experiment at Bart's. If Sherlock seems a little less than eager to talk about it, I hardly care; it's just nice to have him here.

_Sherlock:_

[[Subject put off by apparent over-aggression on part of Control-1. Will modify behavior during next test. Results currently inconclusive. Testing to be resumed in one week.]]


	2. Test 2

_Sherlock:_

[[**Test #2: Control-2. **Slight modification to behavior of Control planned and noted. Control will attempt behavior pattern similar to that of Admin.]]

_John:_

It's nice to come home after a long, exhausting day of work and take a good, hot shower.

Or, rather: it _should _be. Unless you've got the most oblivious, impervious git of a flatmate in all of London conspiring against you. See, I _was_ enjoying my shower, until an odd noise at the door drew my attention. It wasn't until the door flew open that I realized what I should have thought of immediately: Sherlock was picking the lock. Which brings us back to the present.

"Sherlock!" I cry, yanking my towel down from the curtain rod and tugging it around my waist. I peek at him from around the shower curtain and notice that he's not even looking guilty, but instead tapping his foot impatiently. "Boundaries! We talked about this during that whole 'Vatican Cameos' fiasco, remember?" I don't want to talk about the "Vatican Cameos" fiasco. I really don't. Just know it involved a rubber ball and me getting hit in the face repeatedly.

"That phrase will save your life one day," Sherlock says coolly, crossing his arms. God help me, he's probably right.

Still, I hiss, "Not. The. Point." My dignity and patience equally vanquished, I make for my room. Naturally, because I don't want him to, Sherlock plants himself on the stairway and refuses to let me pass.

"I need your help," he growls, as if that should be obvious.

"I'll be a lot more helpful when I'm dressed," I say, as if _that_ should be obvious. And then we waste about five minutes glaring at each other. Finally he lets me pass, I get dressed, and we confer in the kitchen over tea.

"No way," I say with an emphasizing shake of my head. "Not after the last one."

"John." Sherlock can sound like such a child sometimes. "This interview will be entirely different, I promise."

_Sherlock:_

[[Initial observations: Subject apparently perplexed by Control. No outward signs of attraction. Control's posture and body language very similar to Admin's usual. (Personal Log: Having trouble maintaining scientific objectivity. Must refrain from throttling Control. Don't approve of his impersonation, nor his proximity to John. -Holmes)]]

_John:_

As far as I can tell, there is absolutely nothing about this extremely weird interview that's different from the last one…except that the interviewee is something of a prat, and apparently thinks he's about twenty times more clever and interesting than he actually is.

I'm wondering if maybe Sherlock is finding all these creeps in the same place (an Internet forum? some sort of Sherlock fansite?) when Imposter Sherlock (I think he said his name was Albert or something like it) drones, "Despite your limited intelligence and the state of your cardigan, John, I must admit I find you oddly appealing."

My eyebrows jump. "You…I'm sorry, what?"

"You're attractive." He's steepled his fingers and is regarding me with what he must imagine looks like an appraising air. "I'm particularly drawn to your…" He pauses and seems to be fighting back a smile as he adds, "…um, small stature."

"My _what_?" That's it; I hop up and scrub my hand down my face. "Look, Albert-"

"Alphonse."

"Whatever. I, uh, appreciate your interest, but I really need to go." I set some money on the table for the coffees and stalk out uncomfortably, shooting a rapid text to Sherlock.

/Next time you need one of your fanboys interviewed, do it yourself. They give me the willies./

_Sherlock:_

[[Subject clearly agitated by behavior of Control. (Note that all speech and body language was dictated to Control via earpiece by Admin.) However, Subject often similarly agitated by behavior of Admin and thus data is still inconclusive. Modifications planned for next test: coach Control-3 in subtlety. Testing will resume in one week.]]

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Reference made to this lovely comic by the ever-wonderful reapersun: http:/i(.)imgur(.)com(/)6h1p7(.)jpg (Sorry that fanfic's lack of linking ability is so screwy...)**


	3. Test 3

_Sherlock:_

[[**Test #3, Control-3. **Final test using a control "suitor". (Personal Log: Am somewhat nervous about next test. Considering a delay of more than one week, however am loathe to upset scientific method. -Holmes) Control has been coached repeatedly during week on Subject's various interests. Additionally, Admin has previously observed Subject's preferred compliments and flirtation styles and has likewise coached Control on aforementioned.]]

_John:_

"Absolutely not."

"You must!" Sherlock is pacing our sitting room, his dressing gown fluttering around him, and I'm updating my blog and pretending to ignore him. (As opposed to actually ignoring him, of course, which is bloody well impossible.) "I'm not available, and this interview is crucial."

I close my laptop lid and huff a sigh. "Crucial to _what _exactly? This isn't for a case."

Sherlock stops pacing long enough to give me one of those 'I can see right into your mind' stares. "Fine," he says, his teeth gritted. "The men you've been interviewing are involved in an experiment of mine. It is _incredibly _important that the experiment continues apace."

"Is he loony?"

"No."

"Creepy?"

"No, John."

"Understand, Sherlock, that if I decide he's nutters-"

Sherlock sighs, falls on to the couch dramatically. "Yes, fine, then you're free to end the interview at any time." He peeks at me, a sidelong glance, and I can tell that he knows I'm going to go. I close my eyes, let out a breath, and wonder (not for the first time, nor for the last) how I wound up with a madman for a best friend.

_Sherlock:_

[[Subject displaying obvious signs of attraction towards Control. (Personal Log: Have been repeating the phrase "scientific objectivity" under my breath for eight minutes, forty-one seconds. -Holmes) Subject seems at ease; hypothesis suddenly at risk. Further observation necessary.]]

_John:_

Actually, this one's pretty all right.

His name's Alec, and while he does look eerily like Sherlock (he's even got similar eyes, although the colours in _his _at least make sense- I can never make sense of Sherlock's, no matter how long I look at them) he doesn't act anything like him. Don't get me wrong: Sherlock's personality- however abrasive, abusive, or childish he can be- is part of his charm. But it's nice to sit down with someone who reminds me more of Lestrade, or some of my mates back in Afghanistan. Alec is an everyman sort of bloke. We talk rugby, medicine (Alec is a nurse, works at a private practice), politics. It's kind of surprising how well we get on. I _do _notice the way he touches my arm, letting his hand linger maybe a little longer than he ought, but it's not a big deal. I don't want to offend him by mentioning it. And besides, maybe I'm reading all this the wrong way, anyway.

I kept expecting a text from Sherlock but it never comes, so after about two hours of honestly pleasant conversation, I decide to end the interview. "Thanks again for meeting me, Alec," I say, smiling genuinely.

"It was my pleasure, really." There it is again: that flirty tone. Am I reading this wrong? I don't know. I hope I'm reading this wrong; I don't want to have to hurt Alec's feelings, especially not after we've gotten off so well. "Listen…" Oh no. I'm not reading this wrong. "…would it be okay if I gave you my mobile number? Maybe you could ring me this weekend?"

"I, um…" I rub the back of my neck, honestly flustered. "I don't want to give you the wrong impression…"

"Oh." Great, now I feel awful. Poor Alec looks well and truly crestfallen. "Right. No. My mistake."

Clearing my throat, I kind of stammer, "Maybe…maybe…we, um, me and the boys from the Yard, ah, we do a poker night? And maybe you could come. As… as a friend, kind of thing." I put my hands up and add, quickly, "Not a date. Just. Y'know." Bleeding hell, this is uncomfortable. I'm torn between wanting him to agree and wanting him to quickly turn me down.

Alec just swallows repeatedly and nods. "Sure, yeah, maybe. I'll, um, I'll get in contact with Sherlock. Find out when it is and…all that."

"Great."

He nods again. "Great."

I clear my throat again, awkwardly shake Alec's hand, and walk home feeling more confused than ever. Has Sherlock been trying to set me up on dates?

With men?

And did I just go on a reasonably successful one?

_Sherlock:_

[[Subject appears torn between heterosexual ideals and burgeoning interest in Control. (Personal Log: scientific objectivity, scientific objectivity. -Holmes) Surveys to be given tomorrow. Testing will resume in one week.]]


	4. Survey

_Sherlock:_

[[**Survey.** Subject to be administered one survey each per Control, with a rating system assigned for variables of romantic/sexual interest (as per suggestions via Internet). Surveys will be reviewed by Admin and data compiled before final test.]]

_John:_

"I need you to complete these surveys by the day's end," Sherlock says, slapping a few sheets of paper down on our kitchen table.

I look up from my beans and toast (I haven't been to the shops yet this week, and it'll be some sort of day when Sherlock decides to do the shopping) and glance at the papers. They appear to be surveys, and on each right-hand corner Sherlock has neatly scrawled a name. Brian, Alphonse, Alec. I lift my eyebrow and look up at him.

Sherlock's got my laptop open and is sipping from…wait, is that my mug? I look back at my place setting; I'm suddenly bereft of coffee. For a moment I silently fume, and then I stand, pour myself a _new_ cup of coffee, and hunt around for a pen. (That takes long enough that when I come back my beans are cold and my toast is soggy, which is just excellent. Really.) A little gruffly, I snatch the surveys up and look them over more closely.

Each one is identical aside from the name in the right corner. They all look like this:

_**Survey (to be completed at the end of week three).**_

_Please rate using a scale of one (1; low) to ten (10; high):_

_Attractiveness: __

_Intelligence: __

_Respectfulness: __

_Morality: __

_Companionability: __

_Overall Behaviour: __

_General personality: __

_Your honest answers are appreciated. Please return survey to administrator immediately after completion._

By the time I'm done reading I have to fight back a laugh. This little experiment of Sherlock's definitely seems to have something to do with dating, and he appears to take it all quite seriously. Well, I've never been one to stand in the way of scientific progress. Cold beans forgotten, I stick out my tongue and set to work.

The first survey is easy; poor Brian scores laughably low. I rate him well for attractiveness, and he seemed clever enough I suppose, but the rest….yeah, no. I put a question mark for morality.

Alphonse scores poorly almost straight across. For attractiveness I give him a "7", his highest score, and for general personality I give him a fat "0", the rotten phony. There's only one Sherlock Holmes in the world, and Alphonse sure as hell isn't him.

Now, Alec: that's a little tougher. It's crazy how well we got on; it's almost like someone specifically engineered the bloke just to…

Oh.

The penny drops.

I look up at Sherlock, who is scowling at my laptop and typing like his fingers are on fire (which means he's probably in the forum section of his blog, shouting at some innocent "idiot"), and just as quickly I look down at the surveys again, my cheeks burning. Unbelievable. Of course Sherlock would know exactly what I'd want to hear on a date, exactly how I'd like to be treated. That's what the first two were for, right? Sussing out the perfect method. It's like some sort of ridiculous Goldilocks story: too sexually aggressive; too aloof; just right. Amazing.

I should probably be angry. Hell, I should probably be furious. Instead, honestly…I'm oddly flattered that Sherlock seems to know me so well. But what's the madman planning to _do _with all this information? Keep setting me up with Sherlock look-a-likes until I cave and shag one of them?

Oh God. They are look-a-likes, aren't they? Maybe he's not expecting me to shag one of _them_. Maybe…

No. No way. Sherlock doesn't even go for that sort of thing! Right? Right.

Right?

My head is absolutely spinning as I fill out Alec's survey. I give him high marks because, let's face it, Sherlock clearly did his homework. Then I silently pass the surveys over to Sherlock and dash off to work as quickly as I can manage.

_Sherlock: _

[[Subject seems to have realized true nature of experiment; could compromise integrity of final test. Test will not be discontinued; however, results may be thrown out and study re-conducted at a later date.

**Survey Results:**

Control-1: 26 ("?" counted as "0" for purpose of study)

Control-2: 21

Control-3: 62 (Personal Log: Have deleted Control-3's mobile number from phone and mental hard-drive. Realize he is a paid actor. Strongly dislike him anyway. -Holmes)

Survey results suggest second part of hypothesis to be _mostly _true; however, further testing is required to validate claim. Further control tests may be conducted at later date in new, revised study. Current study to resume with Admin testing in six days.]]


	5. Test 4, Conclusion

_Sherlock:_

[[**Test #4, SH-Admin. **Admin will take Subject on "date" with identical parameters to those of Control "dates" (same location, same time, same date, etc.) and behave in sexually/romantically available manner. Hypothesis suggests Subject will react positively to such behaviours. (Personal Log: Indication from results of "date" and survey of Control-2, who was most similar to myself in typical behaviour and body language, cast some doubt on this hypothesis. -Holmes)]]

_John: _

When Sherlock asks me if I'd like to go to the Dorset after work on Monday night (and only Sherlock would consider a Monday night to be the appropriate time for a coffee date) I've already had six whole days to consider what I'm going to say.

Doesn't stop me from stammering out, "Oh! Um. Y-yeah. Sure. Yes. Okay." Ridiculous, I know. But when you're reasonably sure your flatmate is trying to work you up to…to…God even knows what, and you're still not sure how to feel about it…well, I think I've got a fair excuse, anyway.

I meet Sherlock inside, at the same table where I "interviewed" the other guys, and I immediately notice he's acting differently. He's already got me a coffee (and it's just as I like: no nonsense, black, nothing doing with all the mocha and caramel and low-fat soy skim whatever) and he actually smiles at me when I sit down.

And do you know what? Sherlock does a damn fine job of chatting me up. I'm serious! He's positively vivacious, witty, interesting…I forget within ten minutes that I'm being experimented on, that's how much fun I'm having. Cases being apparently off-limits as topic of conversation, we wind up discussing the surgery, some of the more amusing hi-jinks I encountered as a soldier, Bond movies (I've made a fan of him, it seems), our blogs. And yeah, okay, he's definitely flirting. Some of it is fairly hilarious (like when he tries to do the toy-with-the-shirt-button thing, which just isn't him at all) but some of it…well. Some of it…works. Like, when he holds my gaze for a beat too long, looks down at my mouth, then back up to my eyes…yep, that definitely works. It shouldn't, but it does.

At some point Sherlock seems to give his alter-persona a rest, and this is the part of the evening I like best. Things are normal; we're just John and Sherlock. And all the thinking I've done in the past six days? It all leads me to this: I _like_ being John-and-Sherlock. I like it maybe more than I ever realized. And if Sherlock feels the same way…I don't know. I think it could be sort of brilliant.

Coffee spent and conversation lulling, Sherlock stands and stretches. "Shall we?"

I nod, stand. He lets me pay for the coffees (the rake) and then, as we're heading out the door, he puts his hand on my lower back. It feels strangely protective, and…and genuine. Really genuine. When I look up at him he doesn't look like he's play-acting, like he was earlier. He just looks like Sherlock. We walk like that the whole way home, him with his hand on my back and me leaning into him a bit. And it doesn't feel wrong at all.

When he kisses me- once we're back at the flat, both of us hanging about in the sitting room and putting off going our separate ways- that doesn't feel wrong either. Something clicks in my head; thoughts start to come together and make sense. Whatever this is, whatever Sherlock and I have, it's something I've wanted for a very long time.

_Sherlock:_

[[**Conclusion. **Data overwhelmingly in support of first half of hypothesis. Subject repeatedly reassures Admin of validity of second half of hypothesis. (Personal Log: Stop watching me type and go to sleep, John. If I wanted to talk to you out loud, I would have done. Shh. Yes. Fine. Ten more minutes. Okay, fine. -Holmes) Upon suggestion of repeated testing, Subject appeared to grow annoyed and said, verbatim: "No." Possible testing could be engineered, anyway. Subject's expression has just changed from soppy to irritable. (Personal Log: Yes, I do find that to be relevant, thank you. And would you kindly not watch me type? You're distracting me, John. This write-up is being done for the sake of science, and I'm already three months overdue on writing it. So: go to sleep. -Holmes) Further testing appears unlikely. (Personal Log: For now. -Holmes)]]

_John:_

Conclusion: Sherlock Holmes is an idiot, but he's _my_ idiot.


End file.
